Red Justice
by WakaLakaAlchemist
Summary: A man commits a crime in a time of paranoia and convenience sets him free. Antonio knows things aren't right, but his not-so-one-night-stand brings him some hope. Spamano AU, McCarthyism and nonsense.


**Red Justice**

**Warnings: Language, mentions of underage sex  
><strong>**A/N: The idea was completely random. I got it after watching **_**Guilty by Suspicion **_**and reading/watching **_**The Crucible**_**. The plot of this story has no realistic features to it whatsoever and I could almost guarantee it would never happen, but the point was to outline how ridiculous people were being during the Red Scare. And Puritans were batshit insane. Of course I also wanted to address Spain's supposed pedophilia—I'm still not sure how I feel about that. But not to worry, Romano isn't like ten or anything in this. He would be of legal age in many countries. Just not in AMURIKA. Sorry, Spain.**

* * *

><p><em>He told me he was eighteen.<em>

Antonio's thoughts churned within his head sickeningly like a rampaging typhoon. There was no need for him to focus at the moment, for the court had erupted in chaos. The judge slammed his gavel on the bench repeatedly, shouting for order. _But really, how could he have fooled me? He's so small…_ Antonio thought, biting his lip. He was fighting himself. What the hell had he been thinking? That boy had been so soft and sinful, so delicate and needy. A heady teenager wanting a quickie and some compensation. What else did Antonio have to offer?

A final _CRACK! _of the gavel silenced the spacious room. Antonio turned his attention to the magistrate.

"Now, Mr. Carriedo…"

"Fernandez. _Carriedo es __el__ llam__a__ de mi madre_."

"We speak English here, Mr. Fernandez."

"A-ah, _sí. Lo sien—_I'm sorry, Your Honor," Antonio muttered nervously.

"Hm. Mr. Carriedo," the Spaniard cringed, holding back an ill-advised correction, "Is it true that you had illicit relations with a minor?" He frowned at a few papers scattered about his desk.

"Y-yes, but Your Honor, I swear to God and Mother Mary above that I had _no idea_ he was sixteen."

"And how old are you, Mr. Carriedo?"

"Twenty-three, Your Honor."

Disapproving murmurs arose from behind him, although he did hear one, "I thought we all knew sixteen-year-olds were having sex. Why is this new?" as well as, "This was with an _adult_."

Antonio certainly didn't feel like an adult. He'd run away from home, situated in a small town in Spain. His parents never accepted his sexuality and disowned him. He was told he would never amount to anything, so with the help of his French friend, he had traveled to the United States for a new life. As a result, he had very little money and therefore, not a very good lawyer. This man, Mr. Bankly, had simply said, "They're after communists now. I'm sure you won't have too many problems getting through this, as long as you aren't suspicious and don't say anything stupid."

Unfortunately, those were two things Antonio Fernandez Carriedo was rather well-known for.

"Your Honor, if I may say—" Mr. Bankly started.

"No, Mr. Bankly, you may not. Take your seat. Mr. Carriedo, I understand the boy turned seventeen two days after your relations. Is this not correct?"

"Huh? Um, I guess so."

"Do you even _know_ this boy?"

"No, Sir."

"How did you meet him?"

Antonio cleared his throat as quietly as possible. It came out strangled and forced. "I, um. Well, I was just walking out to a premier—"

"He's a communist!" someone shouted, standing and pointing accusingly.

"No, Henry, this ain't one o' them Hollywood fellers," another man sat him down. The justice glared at the two, the latter nodding and mouthing, "'Scuse him."

His Honor grunted. "Continue, Carriedo."

"I…I ran into him at the premier. Kind of literally. He yelled at me for making him drop this bag of stuff he was carrying, I think it was groceries. Or maybe tools? No, it was actually—"

"_Irrelevant_, Mr. Carriedo. Please get to the point; we are on a tight schedule," His Honor sighed, massaging his temple exhaustedly.

Antonio apologized quickly. "Um, anyway, he told me to pay for whatever he dropped 'cause they broke—drinking glasses, that's what they were!—but I said I had no money. He flared up and looked so cute and I told him so, then he turned even redder and asked if I played for the other team. I didn't know what he was talking about! Before I could really think about it, he said that I had better put out or something, and dragged me away!" He really didn't want to get any further than that. Afterwards, he'd had one of his rare bipolar moments that he never liked to recall.

"So he himself initiated it, am I correct?" the judge asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Well, do you realize it is still illegal, sir?"

"Uh…yes…" His shoulders sagged slightly.

"Where exactly did this happen?"

"Downtown."

"And where did the relations occur?"

"I-in…his apartment, Your Honor."

"Mr. Carriedo, you have not attested to rape. Were you or were you not forced by one Lovino Vargas?" he asked, folding his hands and leaning forward, his gaze scathing.

Mr. Bankly gave the slightest gesture of a nod, but Antonio couldn't lie. Against his better judgment and all reason screaming in his head to say _Yes, yes, I was raped! _he was a truthful man. And he could not put Lovino in harm's way, because for whatever reason, he had grown a soft spot for the confused boy. "No," he finally said, clear-cut and concise. "I was not raped."

The judge took a deep breath. "I see. So in the end, you did give in."

Antonio swallowed down the large, uncomfortable knot in his throat. "I did." The moment Lovino had begun undressing himself, the Spaniard had taken the hint. All of his resolve and sense of responsibility had melted away and he'd made love to the lithe body below him, driving into his soft, sensuous heat and holding nothing back. He held onto those cute sounds the Italian had made, every whimper and moan, each purr and sigh. At one point he'd wondered how Lovino had gotten so good at this, though he knew it wasn't his business. He was upset when Lovino kicked him out the next morning, but he figured he could always come back. He wanted to really talk to him—he seemed so interesting! Antonio had never met anyone quite like him before.

But fate did not favor him, and someone in Lovino's complex had heard them and seen Antonio leave. He'd been turned in.

"Mr. Carriedo, I'm afraid I can't—" the justice was cut off by the bailiff who whispered something to him. He nodded along, his eyes widening by a fraction. "Right, thank you, Miller. Carriedo, this was not started by you. This is a warning. If it happens again, you will be imprisoned. Case dismissed. Next, we have Ernest Menski." The room erupted in shouts once again.

Antonio stared in disbelief. He couldn't believe it. He was being let off? His lawyer tugged him up and away.

"Hurry up, before he changes his mind!" he hissed.

Before he was dragged out of the courtroom, he watched the next trial begin. "Mr. Menski, I understand you are being tried under allegations of treason to your country and being a member of the Communist Party…" Fingers pointed, eyes wild around the room, cries of "Traitor! Red bastard! Hang him!" reverberating wall to wall.

oOoOo

After the trial, Antonio had left the building, Mr. Bankly giving him a congratulatory pat on the back. He'd walked aimlessly, avoiding the pleading stares of hobos to which he would normally give any change he had. Antonio took a seat on a splintered park bench, staring up and realizing he'd stopped in front of Lovino's apartment complex. What was he doing here? He couldn't possibly want to meet with him again, not after all this. He could not go to prison, nor did he want Lovino getting hurt.

He began to stand when a figure ran up to him, crouching and out of breath. "Wh-wh-what the fuck are you doing here, b-bastard?" they wheezed.

"…Lovino?" Antonio knew he should leave. He would tell him he had to go, he didn't want any trouble, he was sorry if Lovino had gotten any remarks from his neighbors…

But he was rooted to the concrete. He had not seen Lovino in over a month. Antonio had wanted to see him again so badly and here he was, out of breath on the sidewalk before him.

"Lovino, I…I…" What was he supposed to say? That he'd gone to court because of him? That despite this, he still wanted to see him? That he liked him a lot more than he should?

"You what?" Lovino demanded, finally standing straight.

Antonio ran a hand through his hair, eyes trained to the ground. "I…I'm sorry about this," he said quietly.

Nothing was said for a while. Rain began to fall, ice-cold little droplets that reddened Lovino's face more than usual. Antonio wanted to smile at that tomato blush but held it off. He was starting to feel rejected when Lovino finally spoke.

"Sorry? _Sorry?_ Bastard, that's all you wanted to say?" Lovino choked out. Antonio suddenly realized that those wet drops on his face were not from the rain at all.

"L-Lovi—"

"Don't fucking call me that, jerk!" the Italian cried. "I can't stop fucking thinking about you, and I don't have a goddamn clue why! You're stupid and spacey and weird and too nice and I just…I…" he paused, flushing at what he was admitting. "Th-this is your fucking fault, you son of a bitch…And you don't even care…"

"Oh, Lovino…" Antonio said softly. His heart turned to mush. He brought Lovino closer, wrapping his arms around him in a warm embrace. They rocked back and forth slowly, Antonio humming Spanish lullabies Lovino had never heard of. "Lovi, don't think I don't care. I've been thinking about you a lot, too."

Lovino looked up in surprise.

"I want to get to know you. I've never met anyone like you. You've got this adorable little fire that's just so enthralling! And besides," he said, returning his gaze, "I'm sure you look even more beautiful when you smile."

Lovino rammed his head into the Spaniard's stomach, making him laugh and cough a little.

"I will wait for you, Lovi. We'll just talk and get to know each other and take it slow this time, okay? And we'll stay away from your apartment." He pulled away and smiled at the smaller man.

Lovino nodded shyly and wiped his eyes. "Wh-whatever, bastard. J-just don't get caught next time. This whole Commie scare might blow over by the time you get snagged again, asshole."

"I don't think so, Lovino." Antonio looked in the direction of the courthouse sadly. How many of those men had done no wrong, yet were punished for it? He had gotten off easy, but only because of the circumstances. He knew he was not truly innocent; not here. The only way to repent he saw fit was to give this Italian all his time and love so as not to let it seem like a fleeting affair. Lovino was the best thing that had happened to him in the United States, despite all the mishaps and fear. To be able to see the wild Lovino's sweet smile or hear his laugh would be all the imbursement he would need.

"I-idiot…it was a joke…" Lovino coughed, his discomfort obvious. He gripped the end of Spain's coat sleeve nervously. "Let's go before someone sees us."

Antonio grinned and grabbed Lovino's hand. The Italian all but shrieked as he was dragged along the streets of Los Angeles, reaching a small circle of evergreen trees. They shadowed and sheltered the secluded area within, giving off the sugary scent of fresh pine that reminded Lovino of Christmas. "Antonio, where are we?"

The Spaniard was already crawling underneath the bottom pines, however, beckoning Lovino to follow. He groaned audibly and kneeled, wondering why the hell he was doing this for the idiot. Once inside, Antonio pulled him close once again, but this time in a passionate kiss. Lovino gasped in surprise but did not immediately push him away.

He glared when he pulled back. "I thought you said we would take it slow."

Antonio laughed and pecked him on the lips sweetly. "I know. I'm sorry. I just missed you, Lovino. I didn't want to leave that morning."

Lovino looked away. "You didn't have to go," he said, turning bright red.

Antonio decided not to point out the fact that Lovino was the one who'd made him leave. Instead he nodded and held the Italian's head against his chest. The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, sparkling in the early morning air. He watched the puffs of breath that wisped from their mouths like cigarette smoke. They mingled and rose and disappeared among the treetops, joining the clouds for a new rain. "I know, _querido_. And I won't let you kick me out again."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'm sure there's a better way to say "Carriedo is my mother's name" in Spanish, but I used what I know word-for-word (sorry, Spanish-speakers). So like I said before: implausible plot elements, but I hope you enjoyed it despite that. Thanks for reading, and please review when you get the chance!**


End file.
